Beside her, Winter picked up his phone. Sydney could hear Claire’s voice from the other side the instant he accepted the call.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  “Good.” Claire breathed out a sigh of relief. “Once we arrive at the hotel, Dameon will come fetch you for your rehearsal. I’ll have food sent.”

  “Okay,” he said again.

  As they talked, Sydney typed up a rapid report for Niall, giving him as thorough of a description of her attacker as she could.

  Seconds later, Niall sent a message back to her.

  On it, he said.

  here yet? she asked.

  With the CIA now. Stay safe.

  At least he had arrived now, too. His message—along with Sydney’s report—deleted automatically from her phone an instant later.

  Stay safe. His two-word message of concern sent a twinge of comfort through her, and she let herself take a breath, forced herself to relax her shoulders a bit. Niall was here, the CIA was here—they had their allies on the ground. She would be okay. This was far from the most dangerous thing that had ever happened to her.

  But the attack still remained vivid and sharp in her mind. Niall himself had drilled her in self-defense against a knife, had gone over and over it until she was fending off assailants in her dreams.

  What causes death? he’d asked her during the lesson. In every scenario?

  Hypoxia, Sydney had replied.

  Hypoxia, Niall had confirmed with a grim nod. He’d held out a knife to her and demonstrated the lethal points on a mannequin. Every attack is designed to cut the flow of oxygen to your body’s cells. You can lose fifteen percent of your blood before you start hitting the danger zone. He had given her a sober look. Keep your wits about you during a knife attack, Cossette. A split second could cost you your life.

  Had Sydney not trained for such attacks, her assailant at the airport would have plunged his knife deep between her second and third ribs, all the way through her liver. A fatal blow. She would have bled out in seconds.

  Whoever he had been, he knew what he was doing.

  As Winter finished his call with Claire, they fell into a tense silence, watching the scenery go by. Avenues lined with broad-leaved tropical trees changed gradually into skyscrapers filled on the street level with brightly colored food stalls. Trucks rumbled past them with foreign license plates, the sound of their honking strange and unfamiliar. Now and then, someone on a motorbike would peer curiously at their tinted windows, as if trying to see what important person might be inside.

  Sydney instinctively leaned back from the windows so that her face couldn’t be seen through the glass panes. To her relief, Winter did the same. She had been attacked in a car before, when a motorbike had stopped beside her at a traffic light in Sacramento and fired two shots at her windowpane before speeding off. The bullets had shattered the glass and missed hitting her by mere centimeters.

  Sydney replayed the moment at the airport in her mind. She could still see the man with his knife drawn, the glint unmistakable in the light, stumbling toward her in a lunge. She didn’t shudder, but her free hand curled together tightly at her side, her fingers tapping nonstop against her knuckles until they finally reached the hotel where they would be staying.

  She had seen pictures of this hotel before, as had everyone in the world: the Marina Bay Sands, a trio of pillars connected by a boat-shaped rooftop with trails of flowers and lush foliage. Its sides were lit up with lines of light that ran along each building’s edges, giving it the appearance of a futuristic docking station.

  No clusters of fans were here to greet them this time as they exited the vehicle. Instead, they were immediately ushered across a courtyard and into a lobby that had been blocked off with velvet ropes. As she went, Sydney noted the security gate that they’d driven through in order to get to the back entrance of the building. It was electrified from the inside; she could tell by the blinking green dot on either side of the fence posts. That was good, at least.

  Gavi and Dameon met them in the hotel lobby. Dameon’s eyes were round, and as Winter approached him, he started shaking his head.

  “What was that?” he said, nudging his friend on the shoulder. “Forget adding more security detail. We should have flown you into a small regional airport in another country and then smuggled you across the border.”

  “I’m sure the airport staff would agree,” Sydney added dryly.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” Gavi said, looping her arm through Winter’s as they walked through the lobby, which was already lined with security anticipating his arrival.

  Sydney looked away as the girl leaned up to say something in Winter’s ear, but not before she caught Winter leaning back to listen to her, his arm pressed against hers. Her heart sped up—she forced it back into calmness. Now that they had arrived, she needed to focus on the business at hand—which meant it was just as well that Gavi would keep Winter occupied when she didn’t need him. The girl was doing her a favor.

  She repeated this over and over to herself as she caught up with Claire.

  Claire glared at her, and Sydney pushed aside all the dread in her stomach from her brush with death to give the woman an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” she said, holding her hands up. “But you know I had to do it.”

  The woman pressed her lips together, but Sydney could see on her face that she didn’t have a counterargument. Instead, she said, “I’ll deal with the airport’s complaints. They didn’t give us much of a choice, after all.” She nodded at the elevators. “We’ve booked out the entire top floor. Your room is adjoining Winter’s, as expected, while the rest of our staff will be staying in the other suites.”

  Her room was probably separated by nothing more than a suite door. Sydney nodded and held back her wince. That meant she’d be adjacent to where Winter and Gavi would be sharing the main suite. An awkward situation, if she had ever been in one.

  “Sounds convenient,” she said instead.

  Fifty-six stories later, Sydney could feel her ears popping from the ascent. By the time they stepped out of the elevators, she was rubbing the sides of her head in discomfort. Several other security guards stopped before Winter’s suite.

  “See you in an hour?” Dameon called to Winter over his shoulder. Sydney watched as Winter nodded at him. Dameon’s gaze lingered for a second longer on him, then on Sydney, before he turned back around.

  Sydney noted Dameon’s stare. Perhaps he’d sensed something off about the dynamics of this trip—he’d always been an observant one, had been paying attention in London, too. She turned back to where Winter and Gavi had stopped in front of their suite door, then sucked in her breath.

  “Well, Winter,” Gavi said, casting him a wry smile. “This can’t go any worse than our trip to Italy two years ago, can it?”

  “Don’t jinx it,” he replied as he swiped the door open. As he did, Gavi caught Sydney’s gaze and winked.

  Sydney thought of Dameon’s skeptical stare and forced herself to give Gavi nothing more than a polite smile back. Her heart folded carefully in on itself. It was time to take her relationship with Winter seriously—and by relationship, she meant their brief partnership during this mission. So she said nothing as they stepped inside—into the most breathtaking hotel suite she’d ever seen in her life.

  The same glass walls lined the interior of their space, and thick plush carpets covered a floor decked out in teakwood. Near the wall was a grand piano that must have been brought in specifically for Winter, as well as a canopied bed piled high with thick pillows. Another door against a side wall seemed to lead into the adjoining suite, where Sydney would stay. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a kaleidoscope of colors around the room.

  But the incredible luxury of the space wasn’t what caught Sydney’s attention.

  She was instead staring at the person that was already in the room, lounging easily in one of the chairs near the glass wall, his arms folded and his eyes locked on them in amusement.

  Even though it’d been several years, she recognized him right away.

  It was Tems.

  10

  Change of Plans

  Sydney must have tensed visibly at the sight of him, because Winter moved instinctively closer, his body turned protectively toward hers. When she looked up at him, she saw his gaze fixed on the young man, as if ready for him to attack. Again, she felt that uneasy flutter in her stomach. No partner had ever protected her like this—usually, they didn’t even work in the same physical location. His nearness felt strange.

  “A friend of yours?” Gavi said, lifting a questioning eyebrow at the newcomer before looking at Winter. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  Before Winter could answer, Tems gave them a wide, disarming smile and spread his arms.

  “Mr. Young!” he exclaimed, giving him a deep bow of his head. “I’m terribly sorry for the intrusion. Unfortunately, one of your passcodes here leaked, and a cluster of fans have been using it to access unauthorized floors. We’ve already switched the codes for the rooms, but I’m doing a routine check of your suite to make sure everything is properly updated.”

  A good impromptu story, Sydney thought. Her fists had clenched so hard at her sides that her nails were about to draw blood against her palms. He smiled at her, but in his eyes, she could see the recognition. What the hell was he doing here?

  “This isn’t the first time this has happened to us,” Winter said, and Sydney looked sharply at him.

  Tems nodded. “Is that so, Mr. Young?”

  A good follow-up, Sydney thought, and felt a twinge of admiration for Winter. Sauda was right about his lying skills.

  “A tour stop in Nashville,” Winter said with a sigh as he sat down, as if this was all part of the job. “We had all our hotel details exposed by a staff member. My manager spent the better part of a day figuring out an entirely new routine for how to get us in and out.” He looked at Tems. “Are we going to need to do that here?”

  “We’ll need to discuss it, yes,” Tems replied. “I apologize for this inconvenience. It hasn’t happened here before. Then again, this is the first time we’ve had you as a guest, Mr. Young.”

  Sydney had to force herself not to roll her eyes at Tems’s buttery voice.

  This was the hint for Gavi to leave the room, and when Sydney looked at her, the girl seemed ready.

  “How long is this going to take?” Gavi said as she folded her arms.

  “Many apologies for the inconvenience, Ms. Ginsburg,” Tems said with a bow of his head. “We should be done in an hour, and the room will be ready for you to settle in. May I suggest the shops downstairs or a session by the rooftop pool? They have been closed to outside visitors for the duration of your stay.”

  “I’ll figure it out myself,” Gavi said, giving him a winsome smile. She patted Winter sympathetically on the arm. “Have fun figuring this mess out. I need to go buy a local SIM card anyway. Want one?”

  Winter shook his head. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  “Then I’ll catch up with you later at dinner.”

  Winter nodded. She leaned forward to give him a kiss on the cheek, and he tensed, but didn’t stop her. Then she turned on her heel and headed out of the room. The door shut behind her with a click.

  As soon as she left, Tems’s polite subservience vanished, and he walked over to sit down in a chair across from the couch. “Well,” he said, giving Winter a sly grin. “You clearly have some skills in the improvisation department. Commendable.”

  Winter frowned. “And I’m guessing you’re not hotel staff,” he answered.

  “What a smart one,” Tems said. “And I’m guessing you didn’t take your girlfriend’s offer because your phone’s a Panacea one. Or do they even bother equipping pseudo-agents?”

  Sydney came over to stand beside Winter. She waved a disgusted hand. “This is Tems Bourton,” she told him. “The Arsonist.”

  Winter’s eyes went to Tems. “So it’s you.”

  “A pleasure.” Tems unfolded his arms, put his hands in his pockets, and gave Sydney a wink. “You look good, Syd.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

  Tems shrugged, his eyes staying on her. “I thought you knew.”

  “Did Niall send you here? Because we certainly weren’t expecting you.”

  “Ah, is our former mentor joining us?” He nodded at the door. “Did he come with you?”

  “He’s with the CIA.” Sydney frowned. “Shall I tell him to come see you himself so he can give you a proper piece of his mind?”

  Tems shook his head. “I think Niall has given me enough lectures for a lifetime. We can hold off on one more.”

  “What happened during our original rendezvous?” She glanced around the room. “Why’d you go dark?”

  “The government here is watching me.” He glanced at the windows. “It was hard enough getting up here unnoticed. Their security has been wiretapping me for two weeks now.”

  Perhaps it was the very real threat on her life that had just happened—perhaps it was the long flight—but everything felt surreal now, like she was swimming through a dream. “Why? For what?” she asked.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, we flew halfway around the world to hear it. And you’re supposed to meet us at the gala, not here. How did you even get in?”

  He grinned slyly at the expression on her face, then shook his head in regret. “Sauda shouldn’t have sent you.”

  “Why not?” she snapped.

  “Oh, come on. I bet you had the same thought when she debriefed you. Sauda probably chose you because she thinks I’ve got a thing for you.” He tilted his head in that infuriatingly mocking way she remembered so well. “Maybe I do.”

  Beside her, Winter’s posture had turned to stone.

  Tems pushed himself casually up from the chair and wandered over to the suite’s bar, where he began pushing buttons on the espresso machine. “Anyone want a coffee?” he asked.

  Winter frowned at him. “I’m sorry, I must have thought that this was my room.”

  “Thank you, by the way, for letting me borrow your bar,” Tems answered over his shoulder. “You might notice a few things missing.” He pulled down two mugs, then swapped them out for martini glasses. “Actually, after the conversation we’re about to have, you may need something stronger. Please. Have a seat.”

  As if he owned the whole damn place. Winter shot Sydney a look, and Sydney gave him a helpless shrug. Then she settled onto a spot at one end of the couch while Winter took a seat at the other end.

  “Why are you here?” Sydney asked again. “Why now?”

  “That happy to see me, are you?” Tems replied. “Maybe I should have joined you earlier at the airport—although I did hear that turned a little messy.”

  Even though Winter was sitting on the opposite end of the couch, Sydney could feel the subtle shift of the couch’s fabric as he draped one leg over the other and glared at Tems in annoyance. She scowled at Tems and started to snap back—but he filled a cocktail shaker, and for a few seconds, the clacking ice drowned everything out.

  When it stopped, Tems came back into the living room and handed each of them a glass, garnished with an olive. “I know we were supposed to meet at the gala,” he said, “but I didn’t think that would be enough time for us to go over everything. So here I am.”

  “To go over what? Does anyone else know about this?”

  He went back for his own mug, then settled on the couch facing them. “Nope,” he answered. “Just the three of us.” He nodded at Winter. “And I’d really prefer if we kept it that way.”

  Sydney frowned. “Why haven’t you told Sauda and Niall you’re meeting us?”

  “Because the entire reason you’ve been sent to Singapore,” he said with a nod, “is to escort me home. Correct?”

  She nodded. “To extract you safely.”

  At that, Tems gave a dry laugh. “I tell Niall I need more time, and he sends an associate to drag me back. Typical.”

  “Agent,” Sydney corrected him shortly.

  “Oh, a promotion? Well, a big congratulations, then.” He glanced at Winter. “And what about a proper introduction to your new friend?”

  “Don’t think I need one,” Winter answered.

  Tems gave him a dismissive once-over, refusing to talk to him directly. “Are we in the business of hiring pop stars now?”

  “Booming business, apparently,” Winter replied coldly.

  “Winter has a personal invite to the prime minister’s gala,” Sydney said.

  “Ah, I see. He’s just your golden ticket.” Tems eyed him up and down.

  “Lose something?” Winter offered, following his gaze.

  “A little respect, yes,” Tems replied.

  “Leave him alone,” Sydney said.

  He smiled at her. “So protective of your new partner. I don’t remember you being this nice to me.”

  “Hate to pierce your heart, but you were never my partner.”

  “What a shame.” Tems took a sip of his drink. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I don’t think Niall said it was your choice, to be honest.”

  He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated, “and I’m going to tell you why.”

  “Why, then?”

  “What we knew about the assassination plot against President Rosen is no longer accurate. The rebel group isn’t acting alone. They’re being sponsored by someone higher.”

  At that, Sydney blinked. “How do you know?”

  “The rebel suspect I was trailing for months was killed recently in an ambush. But a parcel he was meant to deliver still somehow went through, and I suspect that it went through successfully because it was given to a very specific patron.”

  “Who?”

  “Ethan Seah, Minister for Foreign Affairs. The same person seated next to President Rosen on the gala’s seating chart.”

  A shiver traveled down Sydney’s spine at his words, and she paled. “The suspect is in Singapore’s own government?” she said.